


Misstress M

by RogerTaylorCanRawMe



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: 1960's AU, F/M, University AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 00:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14390031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogerTaylorCanRawMe/pseuds/RogerTaylorCanRawMe
Summary: Charles Xavier, and his research, are the talk of the university. When a new professor joins the faculty, he tries to enlist her help in collecting missing data. He knows what he's getting into, but is he prepared for it?





	Misstress M

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Sorry I haven't posted in a while - I've been pretty bummed out with writing over the last year or so, especially with certain characters, plus starting my first grad job in November really put a spanner in the works in terms of how much time I have on my hands. But I just want to take the time to thank those of you who have continued to read and comment on my work; when I started thinking about posting on here again, I wondered whether people still gave a crap and seeing that was massively reassuring. So, thank you!
> 
> I've kept this part of the fic short, almost like a prologue, just to gauge how interested people are in my writing these days. I might continue this, I might not. Feedback is always welcome.

September. Same thing. Just a different place. But this time, everyone called you ‘Professor.’

The first few times your students called you that were embarrassing as you struggled to get used to your new academic status; it quickly subsided. It gave way to the unshakeable feeling that something wasn’t quite right. You had always put it down to paranoia, or regret that you chose to pursue research into the blindingly obvious area of electromagnetic phenomena. It always made people ask the most uncomfortable question as to how you got into that. 

Of course, you could never just tell them the truth. How could you? There was no one else like you, aside from your family. You all had to spend your lives in hiding. 

But it wasn’t that. Not this time. 

Even in the confines of your lab, which you had grown to find solace in, it still seeped in. You weren’t the one pulling the strings anymore. Something was in there; rummaging around, holding every single thought - your entire brain - in their hands, observing, marvelling. It knew that you knew. 

Slamming closed your report for the night, you made quick work of securing your lab before leaving for home. Your footsteps echoed in the night from one stone pillar to the next as you navigated your way from the university. The unease made you cold and clammy. You were sure this was the right way. Or was it? 

“Professor Lensherr!” 

You stopped but didn’t turn, tethered to the path you were already on. It was a student, you were sure of it. They would catch up. 

A moment passed before he came into view. 

“Sorry to startle you,” he grinned. 

He was the talk of the faculty. His research into genetic mutation had led many to believe he was insane. They scoffed at the possibility of mutants living among them and the passion with which he spoke of them. Although you yourself found it difficult to gauge his own stance. Was he friend or foe to people like you? Like your family? Was he one of you? You had your suspicions. 

You slowly shook your head, forming terse words: “you… didn’t?”

“Good. I just had to tell you that your research into electromagnetic phenomena is utterly fascinating,” he went on. 

“How did you…I don’t think we’ve even met before?”

He shrugged, “I guess you could say that news travels fast when you’re me.”

Your eyes narrowed, studying him intently.

“So, Professor Lensherr, why did you choose that particular field?” he asked, leaning an arm against one of the stone pillars. 

That was the million dollar question.

You resumed your journey home with large strides, calling back: “I don’t know, Professor Xavier, why did you choose genetic mutation?”

Checkmate. 

Professor Charles Xavier never responded, nor did he follow you from the grounds. But he was waiting for you the next morning, right at the door of your lab, clutching a paper cup in either hand.

“Well if it isn’t Professor X. Come to read my genetic code? Take some cheek tissue?” you said, whipping out your keys, all six of them, and slotting them into each lock sequentially. 

He looked aghast, “I’m not sure I’d like to dignify that with a response… tea?”

“I don’t drink tea,” you muttered, entering your lab and turning to face him, “no, you strike me as more of a ‘single strand of hair stolen from a hairbrush’ kind of guy.”

“Oh-kay. May I come in?”

“Sit in the corner, don’t touch anything,” you said, throwing yourself into your seat. “Why are you even here?”

“I was hoping to speak to you about my research, specifically about getting your help,” Charles leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands together on the desk in front of him. “You see, I noticed last night that your eyes are… really green. Not like anything I’ve seen before. I was actually looking for a…”

“DNA sample. Called it!”

“No, it’s not like that,” Charles said, smiling bashfully. 

“And using flattery to obtain it? Frankly, I’m appalled. I should write to the ethics committee!”

“Look, all I’m saying is that you might just help me fill some gaps in my data. You may find we have more in common than you think. And I’m certain I could be of service to you too.”

You were finding it difficult to keep up this charade much longer, you were certain it was him. Rising from your seat, you crossed the room to close the door behind Charles. Returning to your desk you wore a look of grave seriousness. You leaned forward and in a quiet voice you asked him: “how much do you really know about me?”

As intimidating as you could be, Charles was perfectly composed. Infuriatingly so. 

“Maxima,” he began, “I am just like you.”


End file.
